


Exposed

by Essie_Cat



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Body Image, Connor Needs A Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24286339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essie_Cat/pseuds/Essie_Cat
Summary: Hank shouldn’t have to see you like this. Hank was disgusted by you.With his skin deactivated, Connor feels like a thing rather than a person. To Hank, he’s still just Connor.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 243





	Exposed

‘Ah, Connor, you’ve…’ Hank looks uncomfortable. He gestures vaguely in Connor's direction. ‘You said to let you know if you, erm…’

Connor looks down at his hands. White as snow.

He stumbles up off the couch, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He can hear Hank saying his name, but he runs to the bathroom, locking the door. He pulls the cords of the sweatshirt tight, securing the hood. It's one of Hank's, too large for him. He wants to drown in it. He sits on the edge of the tub, knotting his white hands together in his lap. 

_Hank shouldn’t have to see you like this. No human should._

_Hank was disgusted by you._

This had happened once before, earlier that week. His skin melting away, his chassis exposed, without apparent cause. He had run diagnostics and found nothing amiss. He had recalibrated and spent some time in stasis and run diagnostics again. He had hoped it was a one off. And Hank hadn’t seen him that time, at least not properly, perhaps a glint of white in the corner of his vision as Connor dashed out of the room. 

Footsteps. A knock on the bathroom door. ‘Connor?’

_He’s seen you for what you are now. He’s seen you he’s seen you he’s –_

‘If you wanna spend the rest of the day shut in the bathroom again, that’s your call,’ Hank says from the other side of the door. ‘Not like I can stop you. But why don’t you come out, huh?’ A pause. ‘I’d like you to come out.’

Connor spreads his hands out in front of him, turns them over, wills them to return to how they’re supposed to be. They remain resolutely white. He sees the lines that mark out what should be knuckles, the neat shapes pretending to be fingernails. _A piece of plastic imitating a human._

He tugs at the hood of his sweatshirt. He can’t bring himself to pull it down. He stands and forces himself to look in the mirror over the sink. His eyes are huge and dark against the rest of his face, stark white with panels of grey. Everything is too smooth, too shiny. His LED screams red.

_You look human, you sound human, but what are you really?_

The illusion of human skin veiled over mechanical components, assembled by a skilled technician, manufactured on a line, available for purchase in a store. 

‘Connor?’

He can hear Hank outside the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He hears Sumo give a low _boof_ and Hank shushing him. 

‘I’d like to see you, Connor,’ Hank says.

_You’re disgusting. Don’t let him see you._

Connor’s voice cracks. ‘I’m still glitching.’ 

_Hank thinks you’re disgusting. Don’t let him see you._

‘I know,’ Hank says. ‘It’s okay.’

Connor stands in front of the door for a moment. He listens to Hank’s breathing, the rhythm slow and steady. He unlocks the door and quickly steps back.

Hank pushes the door tentatively. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He gives a crooked smile. ‘Hey, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll get you to the guys at Jericho and they’ll do their magic. They’ve patched you up plenty of times before. This is practically fucking _boring_ as far as your maintenance issues go, Connor.’

He knows Hank wants him to smile back, but he can’t. He’s tracking Hank’s gaze, assessing his reactions, resisting the urge to scan Hank for every piece of information he can glean. 

Hank takes a couple of steps towards Connor. He fights the desire to back away.

‘C’mere,’ Hank says gently. He reaches for the material that’s doing its best to hide Connor’s head and face. ‘Can I…?’

Connor nods. His fingers reach for Hank’s shirt and he grasps handfuls of it, as if to steady himself. He focuses on the pattern. Paisley print, mustard and teal. Cotton blend. Thirteen years old. Two buttons missing.

With both hands, Hank carefully eases the hood down. ‘That’s better, eh?’ he says. ‘You can see me properly now. I’m a hell of a view. Wouldn’t wanna deprive you.’

Connor wants to laugh. He wants to speak but the words won’t come. Hank cups his cheek in one of his large, warm hands. His thumb brushes along Connor’s cheekbone, then along his jaw. He takes his other hand and runs it over Connor’s smooth skull.

Hank moves his face closer. Connor’s hands clutch his shirt more tightly.

‘It won’t feel the same,’ he whispers.

‘For you?’ Hank asks.

‘For _you_.’

Hank says, ‘I think it will,’ and he kisses Connor’s skinless lips. When he pulls away, his hands remain in place, warm and reassuring on Connor’s cheeks.

‘Feels pretty fucking good to me, Connor,’ Hank says.

Connor manages half a smile. They stand there for a moment, Hank looking at him, stroking him, every touch a promise. Connor relaxes his grip on Hank’s shirt. _You’re disgusting_ , the voice in his head persists, but he focuses on Hank – the soft blue of his eyes, the way they crinkle when he smiles, his grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, the familiar bristle of his beard – and somehow the voice doesn't seem as powerful. 

‘We’ve got three episodes left,’ Hank says, nodding in the direction of the living room and the couch and the paused show they’d been watching. ‘Think we can blast through ‘em all tonight?’

‘I'm confident we can.’ He hesitates, then says quietly, ‘Thank you, Hank.’

Hank shrugs. His cheeks are slightly flushed. ‘Nothin’ to thank me for. Shit happens. It’s just one of those days. We all have ’em.’

Connor nods. Then a thought occurs to him, and he steels himself. He tries, ‘Of course we do. Remember that day when your skin peeled off and the muscles of your face were exposed, and I was _very_ understanding about the situation?’

Hank stares at him. Then the corners of his mouth twitch. He splutters out a laugh, an acknowledgement that Connor is trying to be funny. Connor loves him for it.

‘C’mere, you,’ Hank says gruffly, pulling him closer. Connor nestles into Hank’s shoulder. ‘We watching this damn show or not?’

**Author's Note:**

> Gahh I love these boys, and apparently I _really_ love making them miserable so they can be all cute and comfort each other. Thanks for reading!


End file.
